


clinging to not getting sentimental

by waterleveldropping



Series: (and the rest is) rust and stardust [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dirty Talk, M/M, Pregnancy Kink, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teasing, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterleveldropping/pseuds/waterleveldropping
Summary: Jon tries so very hard not to let on about his fantasies to Martin. Martin puts it together anyway.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Series: (and the rest is) rust and stardust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991161
Comments: 28
Kudos: 133





	clinging to not getting sentimental

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to bane and noah for beta-ing!  
>  ~~my longest yea boy ever~~ my most self indulgent au ever! enjoy me baring my soul!

Jonathan Sims would not exactly say he made a habit of indulging himself.

Maybe it would be more fitting to say that Jon didn’t often _get_ the opportunity to indulge himself. His job kept him incredibly busy; between drafting up lesson plans, working with students on their theses, covering for other professors... it was a miracle he even found the time to sleep. 

When the opportunity to ease up a bit presented itself, rare as it was, he tried to take it. Every once in a while he’d order out from the pricey Thai place on the corner, run himself a hot bath with nice salts and candles, or even ignore his ungraded papers in favour of binging the current nonfiction he was reading. 

This, though, this thing he had going with Martin… was overindulgence like he had never known. And not just because Martin happened to be one of his grad students. Well-- that certainly _contributed_ to it, but there was more than that. Something just beneath the surface that he reasoned would be his downfall if Martin ever caught wind of it. And Martin was so bloody clever, Jon knew it was just a matter of time. 

_Fantasies should stay just that,_ Jon told himself repeatedly; it was a belief he held strictly. He’d experimented a fair amount in his uni days and discovered that a lot of the things he’d dreamed about trying were a lot less charming in practice. Jon could recognize the difference, even if he had been out of the dating game for more than a few years now. 

After all, the _idea_ of getting his student pregnant and _actually_ getting him pregnant were two completely different things. Not at all the same. The thought of it was exciting, made Jon feel guilty in a way he didn’t entirely dislike, but the reality of it would be completely irresponsible, untoward, an HR nightmare, to say the very least. 

It had always just been something he’d enjoyed entertaining from time to time. Everyone dreamed about settling down with someone, didn’t they? It just so happened that Jon was also very drawn to the idea of being the cause for such a settlement. But with Martin in the picture, the illicitness cranked up to such an extreme... it made Jon’s face heat. He knew, of course, that Martin got the same sort of thrill, but he doubted that Martin was dreaming of--

No, no, he was _not_ going to follow that line of thinking. Nothing good could come of chasing that idea. Best not to get hung up on such ridiculous things. 

Jon knew he didn’t actually want to get Martin pregnant, not in reality. It was just... that his thoughts tended to drift to it these days when he wanked before bed. The image of Martin taking Jon so well, so perfectly, nuzzling Jon’s neck and pleading for Jon to finish inside of him, to make him his. Martin, already so much shorter than Jon, rounding out his soft, pudgy stomach with what Jon had put there. Martin, so sweet and attentive, carrying Jon’s child, needing to be looked after and treated so gently, so full, full of Jon…

...Even Jon could recognize it was becoming a bit of a problem. He didn’t feel good about it, the actual guilt always set in as he washed his hands afterward, splashed cold water on his flushed face and tried to get his senses back about him. He’d curb this bad habit soon. There were so many other (not to mention much more couth) scenarios he could imagine, other positions he could picture Martin in and-- _god,_ was this really all he thought about anymore? 

It was fine. He’d have Martin over for dinner this weekend, as they had been doing for the past month, and they’d stay in, watch a movie, have safe, _protected_ sex that in no way involved Jon finishing inside Martin. Yes, perfect. A sound, responsible plan. 

* * *

Martin knew that Jon had some sort of fascination with his belly. It wasn’t like it was hard to pick up on, the way Jon would squeeze at it when they spooned, the way he always took so much time to pepper kisses along it before he went down on Martin. Martin didn’t mind, of course. He adored being so heralded by Jon, and he couldn’t help the prickling of pride he got at seeing Jon so overwhelmed and in love. And because of _him!_ Martin could hardly believe it sometimes. 

Jon’s flat was about a ten minute bike ride from campus proper. It was in an older building a little bit outside of city centre, and was not at all a route that Martin minded. It was chilly out, about as cold as Edinburgh got when October rolled in. But Martin was clad in a woolen scarf and mittens, and nothing could truly dampen his mood when he was about to stay the night with Jon. 

He’d been to Jon’s house more than once now. The first time Jon had invited him inside they hadn’t even been properly dating yet, and Martin’s heart had _soared_. It was tiny but warm, messy but welcoming, and the smell of Jon that Martin had then only caught whifs of as they walked together in the halls was pleasantly, permanently seeped into Martin’s bones so he’d make sure to never forget it. 

It was still just as lovely even now, as Jon buzzed him in and Martin walked up the steel stairs to Jon’s door. Jon was still so paranoid of anyone finding out about the two of them that he had taken to leaving a spare key for Martin in the potted plant that hung outside the door numbered C209. As if any of the old women who occupied most of the flats in Jon’s building were about to go and rat Jon out to the school’s administration. He was lucky Martin found it the slightest bit endearing, being Jon’s secret.

He knocked once and then let himself in. Martin shrugged off his huge scarf as he stepped inside and was immediately confronted with the scent of anise and something sweet-- maybe brown sugar? It mingled with the mild, homely smell that seemed to ever-permeate Jon’s small flat. Martin wanted to wrap himself up in it and never wash the aroma out of his jumpers.

Jon perked up at the sound of the door. “There you are. Sorry dinner’s going to be a bit late, I had a meeting before I left that held me up…”

A grin found its way onto Martin’s face as he hung up his coat and scarf on Jon’s coat rack. He can sense Jon is nervous-- he usually is when it’s just the two of them in his flat-- but it makes Martin’s cold cheeks warm to know that Jon wants to impress him. “Oh, no worries!” Martin waves as he takes a seat on the sofa. “I’m fine waiting. I had a coffee before I came here.” 

“Coffee is not a meal, Martin,” Jon sighed, poking at the pork brisket in the oven. After hours upon hours of scrolling through articles that all sported some variation of the title ‘ _Ten Easy Yet Impressive Dinners to Wow Your Beau This Fall!’,_ Jon had settled on a spiced carrot soup and braised pork. He wasn’t a particularly practiced chef by any means, but Martin seemed to be impressed with any dish that wasn’t microwaved pasta or cup ramen, so Jon had that advantage, at the very least. 

“Says you,” Martin teased, thumbing through the photos on his phone, obviously excited about something. When he got to a picture of a small dog, he stopped and leaned over the couch, pointing his phone at Jon. “Look at this picture of her dog Melanie sent me today. He’s in a little sweater!” 

Jon turned and squinted at the image, not stopping his stirring of the soup. “Melanie’s the history major?” 

“Yeah-- no-- well, I don’t know actually. She changes around a lot,” Martin said. He paused, catching sight of Jon properly, and let out a little gasp. “Hang on-- turn back around, are you in an apron?” 

Jon did no such thing, instead focusing intently on flipping the pork for the third time in as many minutes. “It’s not a big deal, really, Martin,” he stammered. “I just... put on a nice outfit and didn’t want to risk getting a stain on it, is all--”

“Can I take a picture of you? Please, please, please?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please, Professor?”

Jon sputtered. “Under no c-circumstances!” 

Martin frowned, settling back onto the sofa. “Spoilsport.” It was sweet, how easily Jon was flustered by him. You’d never know from his serious demeanor in the classroom, the precise way he gave his lectures, his meticulous lesson plans. But that was what made picking apart that prickly exterior all the more sweet. Martin wanted to get to Jon’s gooey center.

Dinner was amazing, when they finally sat down a few minutes later. Jon had pulled his apron off before taking the seat across from Martin, much to Martin’s disappointment. It was quickly replaced by the specific type of euphoria that could only come from eating particularly good food, because Martin practically squeaked as he chewed the first bite of pork. 

Tasting something so flavourful after week upon week of the quickest meals Martin could manage made him almost tear up. He really had to pass along some of his mum’s Polish recipes to Jon sometime; if Martin was close to crying over a simple vegetable soup and pork, he couldn’t imagine what tasting _gołąbki_ or _borscht_ prepared by Jon would do to him. He should really find those cookbooks the next time he went home for holiday. 

“How is it?” Jon asked tentatively. 

Martin made a small sound of approval, mouth full, then added, “Just amazing, seriously,” after he had swallowed. The small kitchen table sported a few candles, casting the entire affair with an air of romance that Martin very much appreciated. Though it did make him wish he had stopped by his dorm to change into something nicer than a frumpy jumper and ripped jeans. 

Jon smiled, his cheeks darkening just slightly. “Better than the cheese bread they serve at the library cafe?” 

“Nothing is better than that cheese bread,” Martin stated, matter of fact. “But this comes pretty close, I guess...” 

“Well, if I can rival even the sacred cheese bread, I’d mark this off as a success.” 

* * *

The wine that Jon picked up from the tiny liquor store downtown was making Martin’s mind pleasantly fuzzy as he and Jon spread out on the old sofa, tangled in one another. Martin was never one for wine himself, but Jon pouring it for him made Martin be the type of person who could tolerate it. It didn’t change the fact that he was still an extreme lightweight, however. 

“Don’t push yourself,” Jon laughed as Martin stood up and nearly toppled over. Jon just barely caught him by the sleeve of his cable knit. “You don’t have to force it down, you know…”

“I’m okay, I’m okay, it’s fine. More than fine!” Martin said, placing his glass on the hardwood and climbing into Jon’s lap. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Jon smiled.

“You’re cute. I like your entire vibe… you know?” 

“Do you, now?”

Martin nodded. “Mhm. Big softy. Soft… so soft,” he murmured as he nuzzled into Jon’s neck. He wasn’t drunk, just happily tipsy. Getting drunk with his professor would be extremely unprofessional, Martin knew that. Cuddling up to him would be even moreso. Though, if he stayed like this, pressed close to Jon, drinking in his scent, he was going to get drunk on something else entirely. 

Long fingers began to pet at his hair and Martin shivered in delight. He’d always enjoyed having his hair touched, and Jon’s hands were an early favorite of his. Martin would watch them as Jon wrote notes on the chalkboard, the way his slender fingers flexed as he formed the letters so precisely. He could hardly stop staring at them when he helped Jon grade papers late into the night, both of them silent in the library, but Martin’s thoughts louder than they had ever been. 

So much about Jon was just Martin’s type. So posh, so refined… and so anxious beneath him when they ended up like that, so very nervous of making the wrong move and scaring Martin away. Jon should know that he couldn’t get rid of Martin if he tried. Not a chance, he wouldn't give up anything for this.

Martin sat up slowly, eyesight still a little hazy. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asked without preamble. 

Jon stared for a second, wide eyed, and then nodded slowly. Martin grinned something more mischievous than he felt, but it emboldened him to take Jon’s hand and pull him up and through into the bedroom. 

It was much less decorated than the main room and kitchen were, but Martin adored it nonetheless. He liked that he was able to see this part of Jon, so raw and real. From his pressed shirts and waxed mustache, Martin would never have guessed Jon would be so messy with his bedroom. It just made the sheets smell more of Jon’s scent when Martin took a seat on the twin bed. 

Jon sat next to him, awkward as ever and playing with his hands, as if they were teenagers on a first date. Martin attempted to swallow up that apprehension with his lips. The first time they had kissed, it had been so sudden Martin barely had time to realize what was happening until Jon pulled away. They had had a lot of time to perfect the art since then-- well, not perfect it, but certainly improve upon it. Martin would have been disappointed if kissing fell into routine this early into their relationship. 

Under Jon’s touch, Martin keened and let himself be tipped back into the pillows steadily. It was like being buried in Jon, the smell of him, and Martin sighed into Jon’s mouth.

“Professor…”

Jon shuddered immediately. “M-Martin,” 

Another surge of confidence went through Martin at pulling the desperate sound from Jon’s lips. “What do you want, love?” he asked, positioning his knee to rub against Jon’s crotch. Jon really had too much limb for his own good. Martin didn’t know how gangly and cute could mesh so well together, but Jon made it work.

“To be inside of you,” Jon all but whispered, though it sounded like he had been waiting to ask it all night. 

Martin’s lips curled, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, do you?”

“Please, Martin…”

“Oh, professor. I haven’t gotten you to beg already, have I?” Martin tutted, and ground his knee further up in between Jon’s legs. The sound Jon made in response was almost enough to sober Martin up all at once. 

Martin shifted, sitting up to undo his trousers. He slid out of them as Jon fumbled out of his own, and was about to get back into the position they had been in when Martin placed a hand on Jon’s chest and guided him back to lay down instead. 

“Mind if we try something different tonight?” Martin tilted his head innocently. Jon, obvious hunger in his eyes, shook his head slowly. 

“Great!” Martin smiled, and reached for the condoms in the side table drawer. He fished one out of the box, placed it between his teeth absentmindedly, and wasted no time beginning to work on Jon. Jon’s cock was small, and Martin _adored_ it. He gently wrapped his fist around it, working Jon to full. Jon only watched, his glasses askew, face flushed. 

“You’re so cute,” Martin spoke through the condom still between his teeth. He met Jon’s large eyes with his half-lidded ones, and smiled. Jon was so intent, so eager to see all that Martin was doing to him. He gasped at the drag of Martin’s hand across the underside. Martin pulled the condom out, sliding it over Jon’s cock, forcing himself to go slow.

“Look at you, what would everyone say if they knew you were this easy?” 

“They’d call me pathetic, desperate,” Jon gasped out in answer, almost on command. 

“And aren’t you?” 

Jon nodded his head, screwing his eyes shut. 

“But you don’t have to hold anything back with me, alright? I want to see all of you,” Martin said, lifting himself on shaking knees to line up with Jon’s cock. He was still slightly tipsy, but kept his eyes fixed on Jon’s expression as he guided Jon into himself, making sure to let out all sorts of tiny sounds as he did. Martin shivered at the feeling of sinking down, taking Jon to the base. 

Jon moaned lightly, bringing a hand up to Martin’s thighs, digging his fingers into them to keep himself somewhat grounded as Martin began to move, achingly slow at first. Martin leaned down to kiss Jon again, pulling his glasses off and setting them aside. Jon whimpered as he matched Martin’s pace, fucking into the heat of Martin’s cunt in a daze. 

The thoughts from the past few nights tried to make themselves known in Jon’s head but he forced himself to focus on quite literally anything else. _Not now, please. It’s so extremely not the time._ He must have been pressing his nails into Martin’s soft thighs harder than he realized, because Martin placed a hand over Jon’s, guiding them up to rest on his stomach.

Well that made things considerably harder. 

Pulling his hands back would be considered rude, right? It’s not as if he didn’t _want_ to touch there, it was just that if Jon allowed his thoughts to drift to his fantasies then Martin was going to know, and if Martin _knew_ Jon feared his life may never know peace again.

“Something wrong, Jon?” Martin asked, still fucking himself on Jon’s cock. He looked so comfortable, maybe even smug, in the way he looked down at Jon.

Jon hoped he sounded convincing enough when he replied with “No, not at all.”

Martin hummed above him. “Do you like touching me there?” 

Jon swallowed. “Y-Yes, I like every part of you…”

“I think maybe you like this part most, though, don’t you?” 

Jon couldn’t reply. He felt like his throat had closed up. He wasn’t dreaming this, or something equally as cliche, was he? The building pressure in his stomach informed him that he very likely was not. Still, Martin surely hadn’t picked up on it this quickly? Jon wanted to run through every single tell he may have given, but Martin was speaking again, in that low, soft tone, and all other thoughts were shot from Jon’s mind at the sound. 

“Why is that, I wonder?” Martin mused, feigning innocence, still unrelenting on the movement of his hips. Jon was going to die right here if he kept this up, and he knew firsthand that it was incredibly difficult to get Martin to stop once he had set his mind to something. 

“It’s not as if it’s anything special. Unless… are you thinking of something else when you touch me here, Jon?”

Oh, Martin _knew_. However he’d picked up on it, Martin was completely aware of what he was doing to Jon. He felt himself twitch inside of Martin at the remark, knew that Martin had obviously felt it too, so, without any grace or dignity, Jon nodded, feeling himself tipping over the edge. 

“Are you wishing my stomach was taut and firm instead of soft? Is that it? Are you wishing this condom wasn’t on? That you could finish inside me and get me--”

Jon didn’t hear the last word of that sentence, instead finishing with a sob, imagining spilling himself deep into Martin; into the deepest parts of him, making Martin his. It was all so much, Jon wasn’t aware of the way he was shaking until he managed to open his eyes only slightly, and watched as Martin followed not soon after, rubbing at his clit and squeezing down tight around Jon, enveloping him. 

Martin pulled himself off Jon eventually, but the two of them sat there in silence for more than a few moments, Martin leaned forward to press their damp foreheads together, Jon’s shaking hands resting on Martin’s neck, not wanting him to pull away. 

All Martin could do afterwards was simply collapse in a heap next to Jon. 

“Uhm, so-- wow,” Martin said after a minute. 

“I am _so sorry_ ,” Jon begins, but is promptly silenced by Martin’s lips crashing into his. Jon’s muffled “ _Martin--_ ” and “ _Really, now-_ -” and “ _Let me at least apologize--_ ” are all cut short under Martin’s kiss. It’s such a surge of affection that keeps Martin at it until Jon finally relents and kisses back properly, cupping Martin’s face the way he knows Martin likes, and allows himself to enjoy this at least. 

When they break away for air, Martin’s eyes are all but shining. Jon thinks they may just have actual stars in them. “You are so much sometimes, you know that? You keep surprising me in ways I don’t even think are _possible--”_

“ _Surprise?_ ” Jon repeats with a laugh, his heart still in his throat. “Not... not like disgust or affrontement, or any other combination of the sort…?”

“Jon, god, are you kidding? I _did_ say I wanted to see every part of you-- and that was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done. And I didn’t even know if I was on the mark with it, I was basically running on autopilot that whole time I was talking, and you froze up, so you were no help at all,” Martin huffed through a smile. 

“Nope, you, ah, hit the nail on the head. Sorry if I was a bit taken aback at having one of my biggest fantasies pulled out and used against me in the moment.” 

“You’re forgiven,” Martin said quickly. “But _holy shit_ , Jon. We have to do that again.” 

A nervous laugh bubbled up in Jon’s chest, until he met Martin’s eyes. “You-- you’re serious-- oh.” 

“When I am not? _Also,_ can I just congratulate myself on being sharp enough to spot that with basically _no_ tells at all, god I am _good_ at this--”

“Yes, yes,” Jon laughed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re going to be the death of me, Mister Blackwood. Honestly.”

“Ah, the renowned Professor Sims, brought to his knees by his boyfriend hinting at the idea of getting pregnant. How the mighty fall,” Martin mused, but didn’t miss the look that crossed Jon’s face at the joke. 

“Jon...” Martin teased, ending in a lilt. 

“Don’t say anything. C’mon, lets get cleaned up--”

“You are _so_ into it! My god, I _really_ did something to you here, didn’t I?”

Jon answered by promptly getting out of bed. “Stop talking, Martin…”

Martin chanced a “Whatever you say, professor!” and reasoned that the slap on the back of the head that it earned him was more than worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!! + the biggest thank you to all twitter friends for encouraging me when i sat down and said "i am going to create an au.. that is So self indulgent...." you guys are real ones. im @jondaisys on twitter if youd like to follow me, or dont! its your life! 
> 
> i have many more ideas for this au, ill add to this series slowly as i get the chance!! 
> 
> title is from fluorescent adolescent by arctic monkeys, comments are appreciated <3


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